


Always, From The Start

by BaggerHeda



Series: Never Stop (WayHaught) [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, and some poetry, that sweet kind of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaggerHeda/pseuds/BaggerHeda
Summary: This, Nicole thinks, must be magic. Some pure and wild alchemy, unbidden, that wrought change upon her otherwise commonplace world, has made her burn golden in a way not possible before.





	Always, From The Start

This, Nicole thinks, must be magic. Some pure and wild alchemy, unbidden, that wrought change upon her otherwise commonplace world, has made her burn golden in a way not possible before. Transmuted because of her brilliant, bold Waverly, the fulcrum upon which all pivots, and the one thing most dear to her. Always Waverly.

Like right now, for instance. She finds her world suddenly engulfed and shimmering with heat and lust. Waverly is drawing her down to the bed, eager hands and mouth setting Nicole’s heart to racing and her skin aflame, fingers fumbling with Nicole’s belt and buttons in their zeal. Nicole would laugh at the young woman’s impatience, and at how Waverly always seems to turn and reach for Nicole filled with raw desire and playful mischief at the slightest of opportunities, except the same fervent appetite courses through her veins as well. Nicole pauses; she adores the reverent unveiling too much, both of Waverly and of her own body, to give it up every time, so today she deliberately slows them down. She tangles Waverly’s hands in her own, breaks frequently to brush her mouth across skin as it is revealed, the measured pace of disrobing both a delicious promise and a desperate tease. Undressing becomes ritual under Nicole's direction instead of a frenzied discard.

Waverly fights it, a little. She tugs at Nicole’s belt, snakes her hands behind to worry at the clasps of her bra, murmuring “off, off,” in her urgency. Some days Nicole allows it, but today she won’t be dissuaded from her worshipful attitude. The pleasured smiles that curl the corners of Waverly’s lips tell Nicole the younger woman doesn’t truly object, either. By the time Waverly is at last laid bare to Nicole’s shining eyes, she is flushed and panting, clad in nothing but the obvious desire that swirls through her body like the fiercest of storms. Her eyes rake endlessly over Nicole’s body, and she rises on her knees with Nicole prone beneath her, astride one thigh.

Nicole, drinking in the sight before her, feels the fire curling in her belly and the twitch of her clit, hungrily gazing at Waverly’s hardening nipples, they are beautifully demanding her attention, her mouth and her tongue anticipating just how sweet they will feel when she at last takes them. She exhales in admiration, watching the taut muscles of Waverly’s belly quivering above her, the wetness that glistens below there. It’s a heady mix of joy and pride that swells into Nicole’s heart. Pride at how skillfully she brings her lover to the edge of these heights, joy at how well-pleased she is in return, an effortless circle between the two of them. Her hands lift to Waverly’s thighs, running up the glorious muscled columns of her legs and across the point of her hipbones, the skin warm and silk under her palms.

She asks. She always asks. Looking up into Waverly’s hazel-green eyes, she says low and soft, “How, baby?”

Waverly pushes her long hair back from her face, twisting it aside and out of the way with unconscious practiced habit, before leaning down over Nicole. “Anything. Everything,” she replies at a whisper, then brings her mouth to Nicole’s, biting down ever-so-gently on the lower lip. Nicole’s hands are now traveling over Waverly’s body, sweeping across skin, sweet and greedy in their quest. Nicole gasps at the sensations, and at the words; her own eagerness is rising quickly to match Waverly’s.

Everything. That’s pretty much exactly what she wants to give Waverly, always.

But, ah, the ‘anything.’ That’s the signal. It took Nicole a little time to learn to trust it, but now she does. Waverly Earp, with her nimble mind and insatiable curiosity, is as enthusiastic an adventurer in this realm as in any other, and gleefully follows wherever Nicole will lead. It is basic to her nature, the willingness to leap into the unknown, but her bravery always floors Nicole, and inspires her.

With Waverly, Nicole has found how much she is willing to leap, as well.

  
*****

It hadn’t always been this way, not in the beginning.

Nicole had known from the moment she first laid eyes on her, somehow, that Waverly would be a special person in her life. She couldn’t articulate it, really, it was just something she knew, always, from the start, and the only questions after that were the _what_ and the _how_ and the _how much._

The first time they spoke, there was a malfunctioning beer tap, and an attraction that sparked white-hot between them that belied the words from Waverly’s mouth. Nicole knew then that she had been right. She counseled herself to patience, and settled in to wait with her heart on her sleeve. And right when it seemed they’d fallen into the damnable limbo of _just friends,_ Waverly finally decided, and leapt, kissing Nicole on that battered couch in Nedley’s office.

When at last they had come to each other, Nicole had known about Waverly’s jitters, the new-and-different that came from being with a woman for the first time, and was prepared to be endlessly gentle and slow with her new lover, reveling in the chance to see those discoveries reflected in fresh eyes. She had expected Waverly to be reserved, and more than a little bit shy.

Oh, how wrong she had been. The jitters sloughed off almost immediately, and if Waverly had a sexually shy side, it never made much of an appearance as far as Nicole knew. It was not long before Waverly had revealed her tremendous appetite, her desire to _do_ and _try_ and _learn_ everything all at once.

(She’d eagerly breathed out “show me” so many times in bed that Nicole eventually laughed and asked her if she was from Missouri, and then had to explain the quip when Waverly didn’t get it, which led to a daylong running joke about Midwestern states and truly spectacular multiple orgasms, a memory that made no sense in retrospect but could still make Nicole flush with heat.)

And once past the jitters, things got a lot more … interesting.

Nicole was far from prude; attending a large college in a big city had meant plentiful dating opportunities and she’d certainly had her fair share of experiences. She loved easily, maybe a little too easily and the Vegas rockclimbing trip was the prime example of that, but never in her life had she met anyone who made her heart sing the way Waverly did. And never had she found someone so willing to throw herself into the joyous exploration of the physical. Waverly was bold and fearless and utterly without guile. And while Nicole would tell herself that sex wasn’t necessarily the _most_ important thing in the world, goddamn if it wasn’t _completely fucking awesome_ when it was all going right, and it was almost always going right. Waverly’s endless curiosity meant she was eager to experiment with just about any idea Nicole could conceive, and she learned to bring her own ideas to their bed, wicked and wild and sensual and infinitely varied. As it turned out, they both _really_ loved to play, to explore.

Nicole counted her blessings, loved fiercely from the depths of her soul, and hoped this blaze would not go out for a long, long, long, long time.

  
*****

Now, Nicole feels the slow smile that wreathes her face, the match to Waverly’s above her, and she chuckles a bit through her growing haze of desire. “Anything, hmm,” she murmurs. The carte-blanche permission generally draws an odd perverse thought or two - _maybe someday I’ll tie her up and start reading_ War And Peace _just to see if she complains_ \- before she settles and focuses to her task. “Tell me,” she prompts, gently, “fast or slow.” Her hands trace up the side of Waverly’s torso, edging along her ribcage, feather-light.

“Oh, slow,” purrs Waverly, “make me come slow.” Her lips descend to Nicole’s mouth, parted, and as Nicole takes them and slowly slides her tongue just past her teeth, a silky probe, a full-body shiver ripples through her, transmitting to Nicole’s fingertips like a small tremor.

Nicole grins, glad they are on the same page. “Okay. Sit up, please. I want to look at you.”

Waverly does, asking, “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” breathes Nicole, “like a poem. There's a poem by Sappho about how the one you love is more beautiful than all the armies in Greece.” She hopes she remembers it well enough to recite, wants to mean every word of it to Waverly. She brushes her hands across Waverly’s hips, trails her thumbs along the sensitive crease between thigh and pelvis.

“Sweet talker,” says Waverly. She moves her hands behind her, placing a little weight on Nicole’s thigh, and arches her back and lifts her chin, a small move that displays her breasts in a delightful way that has Nicole licking her lips. “Do you really know a poem by Sappho?”

Nicole’s hand wanders up, cupping Waverly’s breast, starting by gently kneading and squeezing. “Yes. Two,” she says simply. She feels the swell of Waverly’s nipple under the palm of her hand, brings her thumb to brush against it, drawing the smallest of moans from Waverly’s throat.

Soon, then, Waverly, with her hips still tipped up, is grinding herself down on Nicole’s leg. Nicole can feel the heat, the wetness, and the motion of Waverly’s ass, muscles tensing and sliding against sensitive skin. Oh, how Nicole loves this dance, and the sweet earnest concentration that crosses Waverly’s face as she seeks pleasure there. Beautiful, indeed.

Waverly rocks like this, her body rippling, breathing deep into the slow magnificent grind while Nicole sways under her, hands wandering, enraptured by the woman rising above her, perfect, transcendent.

“God, Waverly,” she finally groans out. “I want to taste you.”

Waverly smiles down, her face a mix of lust and mischief, her darkened half-closed eyes a hint of how far she’s gone. Nicole thinks, _uh oh, something’s coming,_ and goes to meet whatever it is gladly, throwing a pillow aside and clasping at Waverly’s thighs as she moves to straddle Nicole’s shoulders, bracing against the headboard, lowering herself to Nicole’s mouth.

The first taste, that first dip into Waverly’s folds rockets pleasure through her, and Nicole groans loud. She runs her tongue into exquisite wetness, starting the long sweet exploration she so desires, to suck and lap and stroke, to have Waverly writhe and come undone by her mouth, the feeling sublime, ecstatic. Waverly bucks and arches, grinds and sighs, and Nicole’s face is saltsweet-sticky from nose to chin, a very favorite thing of hers. She hears Waverly’s moans, her throaty gasps, the sounds she makes when she is getting close. And then, she hears her lover’s voice come drifting down to her.

“Tell me,” Waverly demands, husky and breathless. “Tell me the poem.”

Nicole barely hesitates. She has pulled Waverly’s clit in her mouth, circling the shaft with her tongue, and she’d actually like to demure, but doesn’t. Because Nicole recognises this is a _challenge,_ that Waverly thinks she _can’t,_ or she _won’t,_ but Nicole Haught doesn’t give away a victory quite so easily, even if it means declaiming the poet’s words straight into her lover’s cunt. By god she’ll do it.

She releases her mouth and, pitching her voice low, starts in a steady firm voice.

> Some say cavalry and others claim  
>  infantry or a fleet of long oars

  
Nicole feels Waverly holding herself motionless and trembling above her, hovering on the brink, and oh god, who knew that interrupting _sex_ with _poetry_ could be this … erotic. Nicole makes sure her lips and tongue and breath still trace ghosts of touch over Waverly’s swollen clit, while Waverly holds her breath, and quivers. 

> is the supreme sight on the black earth.  
>  I say it is  
>  the one you love. And easily proved.

  
Now Nicole has worked her hand under, gliding fingers into Waverly, to twist and stroke with the rhythm of the words. The drawn-out low moan that comes forth from Waverly is truly marvelous. 

> Did not Helen, who far surpassed all  
>  mortals in beauty, desert the best  
>  of men, her kin,  
>  and sail off to Troy and forget  
>  her daughter and her dear kinsmen? Merely  
>  the Kyprian's gaze made her bend and led  
>  her from her path;

  
Nicole has found her footing now, speaking the lines with confidence, knowing that the vibration of her voice, the movement of her mouth, the fingers pulsing within her and the very words themselves are all pushing, pushing, pushing Waverly towards her edge. 

> These things remind me now  
>  of Anaktoria who is far,  
>  and I  
>  for one

  
Nicole thinks, _is she coming?_ Because she knows that keening wail, and that clench around her fingers, unmistakable. 

> Would rather see her warm supple step  
>  and the sparkle of her face than watch

  
_Oh yeah, she is definitely coming._ Waverly cries out in a breathy shriek and Nicole feels the flood of wetness. She finishes with a flourish, rides the high of Waverly’s orgasm, her mouth busy once again when the words are done. 

> all the dazzling chariots and armoured  
>  hoplites of Lydia.

  
She buries her face, drinking in Waverly’s pleasure, with a slow languid roll of tongue against Waverly’s clit, on and on and on, Waverly’s high moans filling her ears, the moment diamond-bright and forever.

Waverly cries out one final time and slumps, her forehead to the headboard, and Nicole gapes in awe. _Goddamn._ She feels like she’s in the presence of something amazingly epic, how her girlfriend with her great big brain took a mere twenty lines, one of the few surviving fragments of the most famous Lesbian of all, and did _that_ with it. That’s some potent magic.

“Baby, come here, come here,” says Nicole, beckoning Waverly down and into her arms. Soon they are snuggling, Waverly happy and giggly against Nicole’s shoulder, and Nicole still a bit dazzled. They’re not done, they are only beginning their pleasure and this is just an interlude, but Nicole thinks it’s a wonderful and mighty start. “That might be the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” she says.

Waverly just laughs, contented. “C’mon. There’s lots of amazing.”

“Seriously, babe. You _came_ because I read you a _poem._ Super brainiac.”

Waverly strokes her fingers lightly over Nicole’s jaw, then trails them down her sternum. “Please. There was a lot more going on than just a _poem._ There was your mouth. Your fingers.” Giving a blissful sigh, she raises up a little above Nicole, their faces close together and open. “I do love your voice, though. Listening to you while we … do other things. You’ve got a sexy voice.”

Nicole chuckles, saying, “Yeah, I know you like that.”

And Waverly is suddenly kissing, kissing, kissing her, starting slow but growing heated, with hands traveling urgently all over her hips and her legs and her torso, and just like that Nicole is aflame once more. The magic, the alchemy, it’s always at work between them, she thinks, her ideas drifting like smoke. Their bodies entwine, euphoric in their tangle.

Waverly’s mouth is at Nicole’s jawline, a tracery of lips and tongue and teeth, when Nicole hears her murmur, “Tell me the other one.”

“What?” says Nicole. Her hands are skimming the surfaces along Waverly’s back; she is enjoying the feel of the fine play of muscles, the flawless skin, and the motion of their bodies against each other. So perfect.

“The other one. You said you knew two of her poems,” says Waverly, licking along the column of Nicole’s neck. “I want to hear the other one.”

Nicole is laughing, amused, because Waverly can be a little bulldog-stubborn once she gets an idea in her head. “Later, maybe,” she purrs. She drops her hands to Waverly’s hips and, with all her skill and grappling training, quickly flips her facedown and pins her, putting just enough weight on her to know when she tries to move. Leaning down, the low purr continues. “Maybe I’ll whisper it in your ear while I fuck you from behind.”

And, based on the huge gasp and galvanic shudder that runs through Waverly with those words, Nicole thinks she may have to do _exactly that._

**Author's Note:**

> I love these characters so much.
> 
> Another one-shot of plotless Wayhaught smut (with a little sweetness) because these two won't get out of my brain, I have to keep writing them. While it's written between seasons two and three, it isn't connected to any particular spot in the canon timeline. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Nicole is reciting the Willis Barnstone translation of "To An Army Wife, In Sardis"  
> My own headcanon knows which Sappho poem is the second one Nicole can recite ... do you have an idea? Leave me a comment!


End file.
